Becoming Avalanche
by JessicaJ
Summary: After Tifa leaves the blackened ruins of Nibel for good,new friends are made, old ones found, and she finds that destiny works in mysterious ways. [An unfinished piece of Tifa's history...]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own this.**

**Introduction:** A fiction set before meteor, even before the game begins. A concept I dreamt up, and leapt on with the creation of the opening three paragraphs. Please read and review this, I would like to hear what people think about it.

**Chapter one: Tifa's story.**

It was eight years ago, now. It wasn't difficult to remember her life, then; it had been turbulent, unsettled, and painful. And she wasn't likely to forget about it for the rest of her life.

She stood facing what remained of her home town; charred, blackened skeletons that were once buildings, the stench of damp rotten wood ripe on the breeze. Although it was a cold November day, and the wind carried an icy chill that bit at her exposed face and hands, she could still feel the searing heat from the flames, when she had stood, helpless, and watched it burn.

There was nothing left here for her anymore. She had said goodbye to her father, her mother's grave. And Cloud… She had said goodbye many years ago. She never expected to see the boy who left to join SOLDIER, to become a faceless killer. Just like…

She trembled. She was angry. No, not angry. That was too pathetic a word to summate how she felt. She was furious. She despised ShinRa, SOLDIER… even if _he_ was in it. She suddenly didn't care about him anymore. She'd remained in Nibelheim for days after the fire, expecting him to return, to seek out his mother, perhaps to see if she herself was alive.

But he had never come.

She shrugged her bag a little higher up on her shoulder though it was barely heavy enough to warrant such an action. She didn't have enough belongings left to fill it; a few spare items of basic clothing, soap, and a handful of photographs which somehow had survive the purging fire. Her father's wedding ring hung heavy and cold at her neck.

She was leaving for the city. There was nothing here for her anymore. Only death. What the city had to offer her, she didn't know. There were more people, more buildings, and more opportunities. Perhaps she could find some way to move on.

She took in one last breath of Nibel air; sharp and fresh, the scent of the mountain stale and redundant on her tongue. Nothing left here for a young girl of sixteen. Motherless, Fatherless, Loveless.

***

She'd trekked for miles in the most miserable of weather; trudging uphill most of the time, ankle deep in mud from the relentless downpour. After a matter of minutes Nibel had become just a grey blur outside her field of vision, a smear on the horizon. And she didn't feel sorry at all to bid it goodbye.

The train station was empty save for a lone travel-worn male, hunched over on a bench at the side of the platform. In her hand, she gripped her ticket she'd purchased using only what money she'd had on her person, simply by chance, before the fire. Her father always kept money in the house-- there wasn't a bank for miles around-- but it had all burned. There was no other option for her, but to find work in the city.

The train squealed to a stop at the platform, belching out smoke into the air, the cold and damp not allowing it to simply vanish; instead the smoke seeped onto the platform, tendrils like grasping ghostly fingers, swirling around her as she tried not to think about her burning house, holding her hand over her mouth.

She boarded the train and sunk into a seat in a vacant compartment, dropping her bag at her feet. Her forehead pressed to the cold perspiring glass, she slid into an uneasy doze, the lurching movements of the train barely a deterrent. Her nightmares did not allow her to indulge in sleep; every time she closed her eyes she could see her father; eyes open in horror, his white shirt stained crimson with his own blood. She could remember all too well the metallic stench of it, how her hands shook when she drew them away from his body, eyes wide as she saw them glistening scarlet in the oil lamp's eerie amber luminescence.

She jerked awake. The train was still in perpetual motion, periodically swaying violently as it rounded a bend. She drew her knees up and cradled them, staring with unseeing eyes out of the window.

Her father had been her everything- he was her only family- and she remembered with a pang of regret that the last time she had seem him alive, she had been angry with him. Something the paled with irrelevance, needlessness, although her heart filled with guilt at her choice of last words. They'd argued about whether or not she would guide Sephiroth and his entourage into the mountains, to the reactor there. He had protested it was too dangerous.

He should never have followed them; she'd screamed when she'd recognised his face, her hair a banner behind her as she rushed to his side. She had never known such rage; her whole body shook with the tremors of it, and she felt as though she could tear a man's limbs apart with her bare hands, should anyone cross her. Who was responsible for this?

The katana glinted in the light emanating from a door ahead. She squinted. Sephiroth… He was responsible. Her fury blinded her vision, and her judgement. It would be foolish to attack a man with his own sword, especially when that man was Sephiroth.

_SOLDIER, First class. A legend. I want to be just like him._

The steel felt cold; even through the leather-bound handle which she gripped tightly. The stairs were steep, but she managed to run towards the source of all her anger, the source of the death of her father. All she had to do was raise it above her head and she could…

But it hadn't worked. She winced and hunched over her bound abdomen. Her grief allowed her to forget the pain for a time, though it seemed to have caught up with her. Grunting, she leant forwards and rummaged in her backpack, emerging with a handful of pain killers.

Barely a week old, but it stung sharply. It felt cold to the touch; all too reminiscent of the steel, as it suddenly left her hands, and turned upon her instead, ripping open a new wound. It would heal eventually, she thought with a grimace, but those that were still open and bleeding inside would never heal.

And she'd watched the steel moon descend as if in a dream, and remembered suddenly; he was going to break his promise. A foolish oath, sworn years before either of them knew the true feeling of disappointment, what it was to truly experience loyalty, and love, or betrayal.

And she had been betrayed, by a man who had been an inspiration to many. Had he betrayed Cloud too? Or was this the sort of action that SOLDIER condoned?

Cloud was suddenly there; his eyes-- that she recalled once being a deep violet-blue shining a piercing faintly luminous cyan-- gazed upon her with sorrow and pain. Was she dying? Was this an angel? And she found herself whispering, _you came_, before she could rationalise the truth.

And then he was gone.

She held herself tightly, as though it was the only way to keep herself in one piece.

Had he really been there at all? Was it her imagination, projecting her innermost desire to be saved? But she learned then, at the age of sixteen, that there were no real heroes. You had to save yourself, had to be the only person you could rely on. Anyone else had to earn respect, trust, and that to expect them to save you would be a foolish, fatal act of naivety.

She was all alone, now. Cloud had never been in Nibel, not in the year since he left. He had never written, never been in the papers like he had promised, never been to visit his mother, whose beautiful, hopeful smile faded with each passing day that her son never came home.

All she knew was that Sephiroth was gone- some said he had been killed, but she knew better that to hope for such things- and that Cloud was dead to her. She was dead. A walking ghost, until she found _something_ to live for.

And she quashed the doubtful voice inside that said scornfully; _what makes you think Midgar had anything to live for?_


	2. Chapter 2

_I've been wondering where I was going with this, and I have decided to do a prequel to Only a Dream, for those of my readers who enjoyed it. For those who haven't read it, you can still read it first [Its complete!]_

_This is now listed as being CloTi._

**Chapter 2: Tifa's story**

The city made her skin crawl. The sight of rubbish-filled gutters, half starved forms of existence known as people crawled, begging for money, some for sex, and others for retribution: deliverance from the living hell. She'd walked past it all, through the flow of the crowds, only one face in the stream, the blood of the city; blood that was poisoning it from the inside out.

She made it to a quieter sector; there were less people, though what few there were seemed dangerous, more furtive than she was comfortable with. Not that she couldn't handle herself in a normal situation; but today wasn't a normal situation. Her nerves were frayed, her temper easy to incite, and her barely healed wound was stinging-- a painful reminder of her last loss.

She gritted her teeth, allowing the lewd comments to wash over her. It wasn't these that she needed to worry about at the moment. Her boots thudded against the uneven cobbled streets, eyes trained obediently on the scuff marks that were starting to form there. She didn't know where she was going, but all she knew was that she had to keep walking.

High rise building blacks turned to shabby houses crafted from corrugated iron, wood, tacked together with nails; anything that was available. And it broke her heart to see that there were normal families living in this filth; a young mother with her young daughter, picking her way across the glass-strewn pavements in barely adequate footwear, in a way that suggested to Tifa that she'd learned a long time ago that it would hurt if she trod wrongly.

She made her way through the worst of it unscathed. Her heart began to slow its pace, hammering away in her chest. She didn't want to get into a fight in her condition; she didn't want to have to think about the damage it could cause.

A loud shout made her start, but she didn't raise her gaze, instead keeping it trained on where she was walking. She became aware of male laughter, a group of men about four at the most, from somewhere behind her. Cursing to herself, she increased her pace, rounding a bend and entering into what looked like a small village community. The houses were still ramshackle; a mish-mash of metal and wood, though she noted it seemed cleaner.

Her stomach dropped as she came to realise it was a dead end. She heard one of the men laugh loudly, the sound causing the hair on the back of her neck to prickle. She turned on her heel, the leather of her gloved creaking as she flexed her fingers. One of the wolf-whistled.

"What do you want?" She spat, tapping her foot on the ground. A neon light buzzed to her left, and babble of talk came from inside the building; perhaps it was a bar of some kind.

"Don't get mad!" One said, his white teeth glinting in the murky light, sweeping a hand through his greasy black hair. "We just wanted to ask ya where ya goin'?"

"And I would tell you that it's none of your business!" She retorted, her eyes quickly scanning her surroundings for an escape. There was none.

"No need to get angry miss, we just wanna make sure y'know that this place ain't no place for a young pretty lady like you."

"Thanks or the warning. If you'd be so kind as to move…"

She angled her body forwards, but none of the men made to move out of her way. She breathed deeply through her nose. She definitely didn't want to fight, but it seemed more inevitable to her as the seconds ticked away. She was weak enough as it is from hunger and lack of sleep, not to mention her barely healing wound, bound shut by a few rough layers of cloth.

"You aren't from round the slums are ya?" A second man spoke now, his voice deep, almost a growl. "Or you'd know not to walk around on your own. Or you might run into trouble."

The third man, who had until now remained in the background, stepped forwards. His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes on fire with what she recognised as desire. Her chest constricted. His upped body was bare beneath a black leather jacket, his hands covered in leather gloves. She noticed a knife sticking out of his pocket. He nodded to the man with black hair, who gave a throaty laugh, before lunging forwards.

Her muscles already coiled, she leapt to the side, getting to her feet with her fists raised, eyes sharp and aware. Her attacker lay in a heap to her right, his eyes wide, looking to his leader for guidance.

"Looks like we underestimated you." Their leader said, his voice cold, though he wore a wide smile. His fingers closed around the handle of his blade.

"You don't have to do this," She stammered, aware of how venerable she was. She decided to bluff. "Nobody has to get hurt; we can all just walk away."

Her comment was greeted by silence as he considered her for a moment. "It seems you are already hurt." He pointed with the edge of his blade to her abdomen. She held her breath as the cold tip of the knife lifted her thin vest to reveal her bandages, now stained red. She'd pushed herself to far already, she thought with panic. The knife continued to move up to her chest, All the while the man's eyes never leaving her body. She had to act fast, disarm him, and then move onto the others before they could make a move…

Then the blade tip pressed into the hollow of her throat. "I want you to move to that alley way over there, and take of your clothes. Or I will cut you open." She stared into his eyes and realised that he was not one to make false claims; his hungry stare told her as much as she needed to know.

It took nearly all the strength her legs possessed to move backwards towards the cold damp of the alleyway, aware all the while of the knife point at the base of her back. Where was Cloud now, she thought bitterly. Sure, he may have been there, in Nibel, But he hadn't stayed to make sure she was alive, hadn't stayed for the burial of his own mother. She would just have to endure it, be raped by these monsters just to get through another day of her miserable life.

She considered turning around, impaling herself on the edge of his knife, let her blood spill out onto his hands for all to see. But then her heart spasmed with guilt at the thought; she could see a small child looking down onto the street from the window of the building they were passing. She couldn't do that. Not here, at least.

The alley was cold and damp; dirty water dripped from the walls into already overflowing drains. In the hazy light she could make out the silhouette of large bins. A lone cat skulking between the shadows darted away when she sensed them approaching.

Her back was pressed roughly against the slimy bricks, and she screwed her eyes shut, preparing herself for what was to come. His hot breath was on her neck, and she was sure that had she eaten recently, she would have vomited. His breath reeked of stale alcohol and tobacco. Rough fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, and she was forced to stop resisting by the ever present threat of the knife at her throat.

Then something happened before she could even acknowledge it; a loud shout from the shadows of the alley to her left, a few deafening gun shots, the echoes ricocheting from the damp walls. And then as her attacker fell, the sharp, white hot sting of a knife wound. She glanced down, noting only that the silver blade was embedded in her thigh, and that her leg was being warmed by her own blood, before she fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

Here's a lighter chapter, compared to the mood of the previous one, hope you like it, Please review.

**Chapter 3- Tifa's story.**

She came to in a dimly lit room, aware that she was for the first time in a while, enshrined in soft quilts with her head nestled in a feather pillow. For a moment, she considered simply nestling deeper into her makeshift cocoon and falling to sleep, but her curiosity, as well as her leg wound, was burning.

She got gingerly to her feet, aware that she was wearing clean clothes; a ladies t-shirt and some loose black pants. Her muscles complained at her sudden movement. As she recovered, she took in her surroundings. The room held three beds, and various personal effects adorned the walls above each one; photographs, notes, and what appeared to be a child's drawings. Hers was the bed nearest the door; the sheets were a delicate pink colour, and at the bedside she found her clothes, washed and neatly folded.

With a deep breath, she hoisted herself upright, groaning as her muscles screamed in complaint. Her abdomen ached, and her leg burned. She held her breath as the floorboards outside creaked. The door opened, and she was greeted by the sight of a young woman with shocking red hair, no older that twenty, carrying a tray of food.

"You shouldn't be walking on that for at least a week, its pretty nasty." The woman placed the tray down at the foot of the bed and whipped open the curtains to reveal a murky sky. "You're lucky Marlene saw you when she did, or you would've been dead."

"Marlene?" Tifa remembered the young child at the window. So, she couldn't be far from where it happened.

"The boss's kid. She got him to come out here and rescue you. Good job he's always armed, too." The woman chuckled at this, although Tifa didn't understand the joke. "You'd better eat that 'fore it gets cold. I'm Jesse by the way."

"Tifa."

She perched at the foot of the bed and reached for the tray. A bowl of soup, some dry bread and what appeared to be a glass of water. The soup was bland, but she began to wolf it down; she hadn't eaten in a while after all, listening to Jesse chat animatedly as she bustled around the room.

"It's such a pain in the ass livin' with three scruffy males," she groaned, shoving a pile of dirty clothing aside with her foot, before she seated herself on the bed opposite Tifa. "How's the soup? I'm the best cook out of all of us, and I think that's saying somethin' about how bad they are!"

She giggled heartily, tossing a strand of her red hair out of her way. Her nose was upturned slightly, and her mouth was full and rosy, eyes a dark, inquisitive green. Her hair was tied back scruffily with a black bandana, though strands of hair escaped it here and there. Tifa found her appearance and manner all together quite pleasing, though the soup was certainly lacking flavour. She gave her a reassuring nod in response to her inquiry, and received a sceptical glance in return.

"It's not that bad," Tifa admitted, finding her mouth turning up at the corners.

"Sure, sure. Listen, what you doin' here in a place like this on your own? Not meaning to sound condescending, but you're too young and pretty for the Midgar slums."

"I'm not sure what I'm doing here." Tifa stared at her half-raised spoon. "I've been working on a farm on the outskirts of Kalm for almost two years, and it was starting to drive me crazy."

"Workin', huh?"

"Trying to save some money to get into the city."

"There's not that much here for a girl like you, unless you lookin' for poverty, crime, and sex. That's all the underbelly of Midgar has to offer. All the money goes up to the top of the food chain. Us, we just wait for the scraps to fall down from the plate of the Gods."

"Was that a Metaphor?"

"Yeah," Jesse chuckled. "Of course, I mean ShinRa. That big monstrous hunk of metal that blocks out the sun, s'where all the big cats are at." She cast a glance to the window, where a gloomy light permeated in.

"ShinRa." The venom in her voice shocked even herself; she placed the spoon with deliberate care back down on the tray before pushing it to one side.

"You hate them, too?" Jesse's face creased with a ready understanding, edging closer to Tifa in order to listen.

"I hate ShinRa, SOLDIER, the Turks… All of them."

Jesse didn't respond for a moment, instead rising to her feet, brow crinkled in thought, assessing Tifa with her sensitive face. Then she smiled slowly, allowing her folded arms to fall to her side.

"Wait here. I need to speak to the Boss." And with that, she left the room, taking the tray with her, leaving Tifa to mull over her situation.

Who was the Boss? And why did it seem to Tifa that Jesse was interested in her all of a sudden?

A sudden ache in her thigh drew her attention away from such matters, and it was at that point that a rotund man wearing a white shirt and overalls blundered into the room, looking as though he made it there simply by accident.

"Whoops- shoulda knocked! My own room, fancy that!" He gave a hearty chuckle. "I'm Wedge by the way, you must be Tifa." He extended a chubby hand for her to shake. "These are for you I'm told."

In her hand he placed some painkillers, and a fresh roll of bandages. She thanked him with a weak smile.

"Thanks, Wedge. Everyone has been so nice to me."

"Lucky for you that you got into trouble near the home of the good guys!" He chuckled again, his rosy cheeks alight. "C'mon the Boss is back to see you."

Suddenly struck by the thought she may have inadvertently landed herself in the middle of a drug ring, she gritted her teeth and hobbled over to the doorway, the muscle in her thigh screaming with every minute movement. She declined all of Wedge's polite invitations of assistance and managed to follow him down two sets of dingy stairs down into what she presumed was a basement.

A single light hung in the centre of the concrete box that was this room, the walls lined with posters, wiring, and from one wall hung a large broken television screen. As she waited for her eyes to adjust, she was aware of several presences just outside the pool of light, watching her carefully. Wedge prodded her in the direction of a stool, which she shakily managed to seat herself in.

"So, what's a girl like you doin' in Midgar- the city of ShinRa- when you hate their guts?" The figure of a huge man came into view in the light's pool, his dark skin directly contrasted with the gleaming whites of his eyes. She swallowed before answering. His fingers flexed where they rested on the desk, drawing her attention to the huge muscles visible through his stretched skin.

"I- I don't know… I came here because I thought I would find someone." She stared at her hands.

"Who else would be crazy enough to come here?" The man continued to question her, but she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter now. I think… I think he is dead. He was in SOLDIER. We were childhood friends, and I…" She struggled with her words.

How much of her weaknesses should she reveal to these people? They had already seen how physically broken she was. She should really be wary of exposing herself emotionally, too. The dark skinned man, shifted in his seat, the wood creaking under his immense weight.

"SOLDIER, huh?" The man gave a chuckle, though the mirth did not reach his eyes.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter. I have nothing left, now."

"Where you come from?"

"A small village in the mountains. Its… it burned down."

The man's fist collided with the table. The glasses resting upon its top shuddered violently, contents sloshing out and spilling onto the wood.

"ShinRa doing." A tirade of profanities rushed from his lips in a discernable jumble, before he met her eyes again. "Name's Barret Wallace. You need a place to stay for a while, you got one. You can share with Jesse. An enemy of ShinRa is a friend of mine."

"Thanks. But, who are you exactly? I mean all of you, if you don't mind me asking?" She asked, casting a wary glance about the room.

"We're an anti-ShinRa group." He shared an uneasy glance with Jesse and Wedge, who were seated either side of him. Jesse gave a swift nod. "We wanna bring those bastards down from their precious plate. They sit up there getting rich by sucking the life outta this goddamn planet, under the banner that they are provided us all with power! That's all a loadda crap! If someone doesn't do somethin' we'll all die!"

"Life out of the planet?" She repeated slowly, staring back down at her hands. She remembered something her teacher had told her, about life stream. And of course, what Sephiroth had said about Mako reactors. She shivered. "Reactors, right?"

She remembered seeing the horrendous towers the glowed eerily out of the night, alight with the glow of the life stream that coursed under the skin of the earth. Sucking it dry.

"Yeah, you got it." Barret's warm eyes twinkled.

"Can I join you?" Jesse shared a glance with Wedge. "I mean, I want to help, too. I hate ShinRa too, and I think I might be useful."

"We could use an extra hand now and then," Jesse murmured to Barret, who seemed unsure if Tifa's resolve.

"How old are you, Kid?" He addressed her, arms folded, squinting at her from across the table.

"I am 19. I'm not as weak as I look. I have trained under a martial arts master in my hometown since I was 5. I can handle myself." She scowled at Wedge's untimely giggle.

"Well, welcome to the family I guess…" He scratched the back of his head.

"You don't have a name?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Err… No. Not yet…"

***

Tifa fell in love with Marlene the second she laid eyes on her; the cutest three year old she had ever seen, without a doubt. She had eyes of emerald with brown ringlets to her shoulders. Tifa knelt before her, as she tried without success to hide behind her father's legs.

"Marlene, this is Tifa. She's gonna help Daddy take care o' you while we out."

"Hi." Tifa wiggled her fingers.

"Teef, we're gonna be out for a coupla hours, so try to stay outta trouble." He winked, before leaving Tifa alone with Marlene. She was thankful to discover that she was not a troublesome child; she was extremely well mannered, and was full of laughter and amusing anecdotes.

A couple of hours later, Tifa navigated towards the kitchen, turning her nose up in disgust. It didn't appear that the residents of this house were familiar with washing dishes; one look into the sink told her as much. She immediately set to work salvaging the crockery and utensils from the depths of the murky water, Marlene eager to assist her at every opportunity.

She poked around in the fridge, disappointed to find little ingredients for making even the simplest of dishes. Heaving a sigh, she turned to the small girl who was currently playing with her rag doll on the floor.

"Where do you guys get food from, Marlene?" She was talking more to herself than to the girl, though she wasn't surprised by now to receive an informative answer.

"There's a shop outside. Mr Finch is a nice man, friend of Daddy's."

Tifa assumed that being the type of man that Barret was, he would not befriend murders, rapists, or thieves, so she found enough courage to head over to the store with Marlene in tow to forage for food, her back pocket full of her contingency fund money.

An hour later, and the kitchen was filled with the smell of cooking. She'd been bored enough to cook a stew enough for an army, Marlene there to point her in the direction of the correct cupboards.

She turned upon the sound of the door being tampered with, here eyes darting from it and the clock. Surely it was too early for them to be back? Her hand closed around the handle of a sharpened meat knife just as a tall skinny man entered into the room leading from the kitchen.

His hair was back and disorderly, skin covered with several tattoos, and he wore a black t-shirt and jeans, paired with a red bandana and heavy duty boots. His facial features were sharp, alert and profound, as he took in Tifa's appearance, his stance defensive.

"Who are you?" She asked, the knife held tightly in her hand.

"I was gunna ask you the same question," his sharp eyes flitted from her, to Marlene, who was stood between them looking confused. "Who's this, Marley?"

"It's Tifa, daddy's new friend." Tifa relaxed her grip on the knife slightly. "Don't worry uncle Biggs, she won't hurt you, will you Tifa?" She placed it down on the worktop.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge." She ran a hand through her hair, realising now that she was shaking.

"It's alright, don't think Barret was expecting me back today, or he woulda said summat." The man named Biggs sauntered into the kitchen and peered into the bubbling pan with a sceptical expression.

"You like, a nanny? Didn't think our budget covered that!" He chuckled to himself, moving back into the main room and slipping into a barstool. When she shook her head, he considered her more carefully. "What's your story?"

As she maintain her watch over the bubbling pot, she briefly told him what had conspired since she had arrived here, careful not to leak in too many details of her past. It was painful enough to relive in her nightmares, never mind when she was awake.

Then Barret and the others burst into the room, bolting the door after them and closing all the curtains.

"Shit, that was close!" Jesse whispered darkly, seating herself next to Biggs wearily. "Freakin' guards must be getting stupider f they didn't see us! Wedge you clumsy son of a bitch, tripping over your own feet!"

Tifa listened in on their post-mission babble, whilst dishing up her stew and passing bowls full of her steaming concoction around until everyone was occupied eating.

"Y'know something?" Wedge managed to say between mouthfuls. "This stew is… great!"

"I don't get it!" Jesse whined, scooping out the last spoonful and devouring it. "Nothing I get from Finch's store could ever make anything this good."

"That's cause you suck at cooking," Biggs muttered, laughing as he dodged her retaliation punch.

Jesse volunteered herself for washing up, partly because, Tifa suspected, she wanted to know her secret.

***

"So we managed to steal some supplies; but we can't keep on doing this forever!" Jesse was tapping at a calculator madly, scrawling down sums in a notepad, seeming to get more and more agitated with each revelation.

Marlene had long gone to bed, and everyone was congregated in the large disused bar, sat at a rickety wooden table. Tifa sat in silence, taking everything in.

"We need more cash," Barret leant back in his seat, rubbing his chin. "We can't keep on selling stolen goods… we need… a constant income."

"Why don't you open the bar?" Tifa interjected suddenly. Her statement was met with silence, until Biggs burst into hysterical laughter.

"Open the bar…. fucking Jesus…"

"I mean it! You can get a constant flow of cash, I know this because there is always a vice to be fed in a city like this. It won't be difficult to manage…"

"Plus we can get all the gossip we want, without having to beat it outta people! We can get 'em blind drunk without resorting to violence!" Wedge added happily.

"Information, money… Yes! This could work!" Jesse tapped at her calculator a little more feverously. "With money, we can buy supplies from dealers, establish contacts. We could have equipment downstairs for crying out loud! Intel, data sourcing--"

"--and beer!" Biggs hiccoughed.

"It could be a cover too. You'll be more respected as business owners." Tifa added sensibly.

"Y'know, I think this could be it-- our big break!" Barret stood and crossed to the blacked out window. "No more hiding underground like rats. We can climb up to the top, hit 'em where it hurts, we can set the ball rollin, and we can cause devastation, man! We could bring down ShinRa, like a… a…"

"An Avalanche." Tifa whispered. "That's what you can call yourselves. Avalanche."

"Avalanche?" Barret considered her thoughtfully for a moment, before his face split into a huge grin. "Y'know, I like it! And when we open this bar, its gunna be yours- Tifa's Sector Seven bar!"

"A slice of Heaven in the dregs of--" Wedge began poetically.

"Tifa's Seventh Heaven, yes!" Jesse giggled. "We are Avalanche! and this is Tifa's seventh Heaven- you'd better get ready ShinRa, cause we are coming to bring you down!" Jesse lurched up onto the table, arms raised above her head.

"Uh, Jesse?" Biggs lowered his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can see up your skirt."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it's been a while Folks, but I've had exams and I've been working like a bitch. But here's a new chapter. Please REVIEW as then I know I'm doing SOMETHING right!**

**Much love, and enjoy!**

**Jess**

**Chapter 4: Tifa's story**

She didn't condone their plans; she'd tried to protest at first, though even she couldn't argue against it for long. Not when Jesse's conviction was so strong.

She was sat watching Jesse work in the basement; the bar had been open for a couple of weeks, and thankfully, it had been a success. A few people had been removed from the premises on a couple of occasions due to a lewd comment or a smashed glass being waved in someone's face. Barret had been adamant that at the first sign of trouble, the customer should be ejected. And she'd chuckled to see grown men land on their backsides in the dirt outside, drunk and disgruntled.

The proceeds had gone towards purchasing equipment. Jesse was the brains of the group certainly; she could do things with wiring that Tifa never thought possible. The screen had been fixed, and was currently buzzing out a poor quality news channel, and sprawled across the table were piles of bits of metal and wiring.

"Jesse, what's this?" Tifa pointed with distaste to the offending articles. Jesse gave a wan smile.

"It's a bomb."

"A what?" She choked, stepping away from the table, although she knew it wouldn't be live, if that's what it was called.

"For the reactors, Tif. We've been through this." Jesse let her screwdriver clatter to the floor and ran her pale fingers over her forehead.

"I know but I didn't think…"

"Tifa… we need to do something. And I know what this looks like. But something has to be done, and blowing up one of those god forsaken planet suckers is _something_. We aren't big enough to take on ShinRa head on _yet_."

"People could die, Jesse." Tifa pleaded. Jesse's eyes glimmered with regret, though her shoulders did not slump in defeat. "What if people find out who we are? Have you thought about what could happen to Marlene, to you, to Biggs!" Tifa's words had some effect here- She knew of the girl's affections for their team mate.

"I have thought about it. If I died whilst doing what I believe in… then it is a happy death."

Raising her eyebrows at the almost Samurai quote, Tifa surrendered, wandering aimlessly out of the front door of their head quarters. A murky light penetrated the smog; the sun must be shining down brightly upon the land, above all the pollution and the metal plate. Her feet carried her listlessly towards the train station, her ears accosted by the harsh whistling of the train as it puffed into the station, wheels screeching against the steel tracks. People bustled around her, as she weaved her way slowly between drabbles of passengers embarking and disembarking the train. She saw so many faces every day, though none of them sparked any recognition. She supposed she was hoping to find a familiar face; a fellow villager, from Nibelheim, who had perhaps come to the city to seek a new beginning like her. She knew of only two or three survivors, but where they were now, she could only guess.

And that was when she saw him.

No… it couldn't be? Seven years of no word, not even after the fire. Surely he couldn't be here, of all places?

But there was no mistaking it. As the crowd eventually thinned, she could distinguish the man's most outstanding feature properly; unruly spikes of blonde hair. Who else had she seen with the same hair since she'd known him?

She stopped a few steps away from him. He was sat on the ground, slumped forwards with his head against his knees, eyes closed, features relaxed. By his side, was a frightening looking silver sword, and although he seemed relaxed, the knuckles of the hand which grasped its hilt were white.

"Cloud?" Her voice sounded strange, suddenly loud in the emptying platform. The train was still, its engines rumbling gently behind her. "Cloud?"

The man raised his head, staring straight ahead of him. It was then that she noticed his eyes- such a startling shade of blue that they almost seemed to glow out of the gloom.- Yes, they did glow- But she remembered Cloud's eyes to be a deep blue, almost like slate. Surely this couldn't be right?

But the she remembered ShinRa, and what they used to do to their… 'soldiers'. She tightened her fists.

"Cloud is that you?"

He seemed to struggle as he tried to stand, and she resisted the urge to assist him. Partly because of her turbulent emotions, and partly because of that imposing sword. ShinRa… Soldier. She hated them all. He had been one of them… could still be one of them. She couldn't… betray her friends.

"Tifa…?" His eyes seemed to struggle to focus upon her, erring in their attempt to search her face. "Tifa."

"Cloud!" She ignored the twinge in her chest, maintaining a jovial expression. "How long has it been?" At her words, a flicker of pain crossed his features. She took that moment to examine him more closely. His boyish features were still present in the slight roundness of his face, and the delicate shape of his lips, though the sharpness and well defined curve of his nose and forehead distinguished him as a man. She noted how slight he was, despite his muscular arms and shoulders, and how he was now a few inches taller than her.

"Five years…" He said after a moment. She furrowed her brow.

"Really? Where have you been?" Her curiosity, coupled with her overwhelming relief that she had found a remnant of her past was getting the better of her. "Did you know Nibelheim was burned to the ground?"

His facial expressions seemed to come into conflict with one another for a moment; First he seemed confused, though his fury burned through that, smouldering in his eyes, setting his jaw firm.

"Yes. I was there, I went straight from the reactor after… after I'd seen you there. After… Sephiroth…" His face contorted as if in pain, and she found herself stepping forwards to reach for him. She placed her hand on his arm, shocked by the heat she encountered there.

"Cloud, you'd better come with me. We have a safe house here. You can… tell me everything that happened after the fire." _And everything before_, she had wanted to add. Something didn't seem right, and she didn't like it one bit.

For one, she hadn't seen Cloud since he had left Nibelheim, when she was fourteen, and he was fifteen. That made it seven Years. Not his five. She didn't doubt her memory, either. Longing for her past had imprinted that accuracy within her. He had never been there, at the fire, seen his hometown burn, his mother perish. He hadn't been there to rescue her, in the end. Here she was, trying to pick herself up and dust herself down…

…Only to be pushed back down into the dust and look up into an unfamiliar face that offered her a reluctant hand. Although, she knew she would reach for it regardless of the fact that she knew it wouldn't be strong enough to pull her to her feet.


End file.
